


Visiting Hour Blues

by FunkyinFishnet



Series: Violet Nights [8]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Baking, Friendship, M/M, Male Slash, Teamwork, Unexpected Visitors, Workplace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-10
Updated: 2013-10-10
Packaged: 2017-12-29 00:15:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/998585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunkyinFishnet/pseuds/FunkyinFishnet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was going to be one of those days. First, Bilbo meets the owner of the Rivendell Restaurant who makes him a startling and highly-interesting offer, and then Violet Nights becomes a hideout for injured Durins as Smaug’s men come looking for them but what do they really want?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

Bilbo knew it was going to be a highly-unusual day when the door to Violet Nights swung open and Elrond swept in. Bilbo froze, what exactly was someone who regularly featured in the press’s society pages doing in his café? Oh, he knew all about Elrond – the highly-successful family restaurant, the expensive prices, the ambiance, and the delicacy of the food. Belladonna often talked about how wonderful it was, she liked to go there for coffee and people-watching.

 

  
Of course that didn’t explain why Elrond was in the middle of Violet Nights, looking around with thorough interest.

 

  
Bilbo wiped his hands on the teatowel slung over his shoulder and tried to stand up a little straighter. Elrond was tall and handsome in a way that was almost otherworldly; it was an unbelievable sort of beauty, and Elrond wore it well, not like he expected everyone to immediately start admiring him. Not like some who swept into Bilbo’s café.

 

  
As it was, Elrond was the one who broke the silence, his gaze finally drifting over to Bilbo. “Your mother has remarkably good taste.”

 

  
Bilbo choked on thin air for a moment, his mind whirling. “You know my…of course you know my mother.”

 

  
Because why not? Belladonna Baggins was always determined to know everything about the many things that interested her. She often scribbled notes in the margins of newspaper and magazine articles, particularly those featuring Elrond, his restaurant, his family. Why shouldn’t she decide to strike up a highly-unlikely friendship with the man himself? Bilbo could feel a headache approaching.

 

  
He arranged his features into a smile as Elrond took a seat at a table. His hair really did reach his waist, with a tiny gold-threaded braid pulled back at either temple. He looked astonishingly stately, even amongst the worn edges of the café.

 

  
His gaze was fixed on the menu blackboard. Bilbo could only scratch fingers through his hair and wait. A smile ghosted across Elrond’s face and suddenly he didn’t seem so untouchable.

 

  
“She has claimed that nothing on Rivendell’s dessert menu ever comes close to matching the quality of what emerges from your kitchen.” He lifted his chin just so, his gaze fixing steadily on Bilbo’s face. “So I would like a piece of apple cake, with vanilla ice cream.”

 

  
Bilbo was pretty sure that he was gaping like a fish; his mother had actually told one of the city’s most-praised restaurateurs that her son’s café desserts were better than anything his highly-regarded restaurant served? Oh God…

 

  
He was about to say _no, really, ignore my mother_ , but the words died when he saw the look on Elrond’s face – unbridled interest and challenge. He wasn’t sneering, but he was not going to move until this matter was settled. Stubborn, no wonder he got on well with Belladonna.

 

  
Bilbo cleared his throat. “There’s a good tea that goes with it too, if you’d like…?”

 

  
“Thank you.”

 

  
Relieved and confused, Bilbo retreated to the kitchen, grabbing his phone to text Thorin a hasty _my mother told Elrond that my desserts are better than his. He’s here for a taste test. FML._ Thankfully, the cake was warm and moist after a short reheating spell in the oven and the ice cream scooped beautifully. It looked good in a blue and white patterned china bowl. Bilbo let the tea steep and stared at the shifting tealeaves, at the completely unconcerned rising steam. A buzz in his pocket got his attention.

 

  
_Nothing in Rivendell tastes as good as your baking._

 

  
Bilbo wanted to snort, to laugh, because he’d tasted the amazing homemade breads served in little baskets at Rivendell. _Everything_ tasted wonderful there, falling apart in your mouth and running with vibrant flavours. Violet Nights didn’t come close. But Thorin, who was working on not holding back all the thoughts that he determinedly caged up in his head, believed otherwise. And that warmed Bilbo all the way through.

 

  
Aware that he was probably smiling rather stupidly, and that Elrond could probably see him, Bilbo poured a cup of particularly fragrant fruit tea and loaded up a tray with Elrond’s order. Rivendell’s proprietor was leafing through a volume of e e cummings and only set it aside once Bilbo began unloading his wares. Elrond really did have the most penetrating gaze, Bilbo was positive that Elrond was the sort of food scholar who could list a dish's ingredients after only a few mouthfuls. No pressure then, oh no, none at all.

 

  
Bilbo tried not to stare. He busied himself with rearranging the shelves that Brinar had had fun with recently. Somehow he had managed to spell out the filthiest sentences using only the books’ spines and his wild and inventive imagination. So far, no sound of Elrond spitting anything out in disgust. Bilbo kept his back pointedly turned, how did Elrond cope with visitors filling his restaurant every night, judging whether or not his food met the ridiculously-high standards that the newspapers raved about?

 

  
“Mr Baggins.”

 

  
A summons. Bilbo stiffened and felt his pocket buzz with an incoming message but he turned to face Elrond, two novels in hand and a smile twisting. He and his mother were going to have a very long talk after this.

 

  
Half of the cake was gone and Elrond’s hands were folded together. His expression was as serene and unreadable it always seemed in photographs, a pond without a ripple.

 

  
“Your mother is not a liar.”

 

  
His tone was measured but there was a hint of warmth and even a smile that caused Bilbo’s own smile to gladly untwist. Elrond liked his baking. His mother would probably insist that he should have such a valuable review printed up on flyers. In that moment, Bilbo felt like agreeing with her.

 

  
Elrond drank a sip more tea before speaking again. “I would offer you work in my kitchen, but I have been reliably informed that your work here is of the utmost importance to you.”

 

  
His mother had gotten that right. Bilbo’s gaze briefly swept his café – the comfortable furniture, the blackboard that Falco insisted on redecorating every time he visited, the crowded book shelves that were browsed by students, mothers, and late night clubbers, the rainbow sticker that was still prominent in the window. There were days when he was exhausted and frustrated and wished that he’d never listened to his mother, of course there were. But those days were outweighed by how often someone complimented his baking, how happy families looked as they came in for a rest mid-shopping, how relieved people were when Bilbo welcomed them without judgement, no matter how they were dressed or who they held hands with.

 

  
Besides, the idea of working in Elrond’s kitchen was terrifying. Bilbo had seen pictures of it – it was enormous and everyone who worked there appeared to possess the same supernatural calm and blank expression as Elrond. Maybe it would be a very soothing place to work – almost certainly it was the calmest kitchen in existence – but Bilbo realised, with a fond and amused shake of his head, that he was used to the unruly chaos that Fal and Brinar and any number of Durins regularly brought to his life. To attempt to work without that now was unthinkable.

 

  
Elrond nodded slowly and spooned up more cake. His smile only increased as he ate and Bilbo smiled back. He wondered how many people actually got to see Elrond smile. In all the photos Bilbo had seen, Elrond had kept a very tight leash on his expression, there was never a hint of a smile. But there was clearly a lot that Elrond kept especially secret from the always-greedy press, like the fact that he had become unlikely friends with Bilbo’s forthright mother, that he’d actually listened to her when she’d boasted about her son’s baking prowess, that he’d been willing to be proved wrong. Yet, he’d come to the café and had shared all of that with Bilbo. What a privilege.

 

  
“I must thank you,” Elrond spoke up, casual and yet also deliberate in that casualness. “My sons have visited Violet Nights several times; I’m told you always treat them kindly.”

 

  
Bilbo blinked, Elrond’s sons had visited? He was sure he would have remembered them; they were striking when caught by photographers’ lens – dark-haired twins with the sort of bone structure that sent Fal into overlong raptures. Maybe they’d come in with one of the after-clubs crowds? Sometimes he didn’t get a chance to personally greet everyone who spilled in. Vaguely, he could recall grey eyes and _thank yous_ , but that could have been anyone. Still, he seemed to have made a good impression and a reply to that was simple enough.

 

  
“Everyone’s welcome.”

 

  
Elrond scraped the last of the cake out of the bowl and seemed lost in thought. Bilbo wondered suddenly how often Elrond’s sons could truly relax, their father was well-known, there’d been that kidnapping scare only last year, and the family was rarely out of the papers. Perhaps being anonymous in a crowd had been part of why they’d liked Violet Nights. Bilbo smiled.

 

  
And Elrond got to his feet, his movements seeming to flow like water. Bilbo was envious – he tended to bump into people and have his feet trodden on, something he was sure never happened to Elrond. The man was tall too, though he didn’t give the appearance of looking down on anyone. His gaze was level and thorough as it swept Bilbo from head to toe.

 

  
“The next time you visit Rivendell, perhaps you could bring a different dessert.”

 

  
Bilbo’s eyebrows jumped high. Bring food to a restaurant? That seemed like something out of Monty Python. “Ah…won’t your chef…?”

 

  
“A chef is only as good as his last meal.” There was that smile again. For all his stateliness and careful blankness, there was also something warm and almost playful about Elrond, if he allowed you to see that side of him. “And my sons have told me how much they like your fruit rolls.”

 

  
And maybe that was a preference they’d inherited from their father. Elrond clearly wasn’t going to come out and say it, but Bilbo’s smile was a grin now.

 

  
“I was thinking of trying out a few new flavours, Rivendell sounds like the perfect place to get an honest opinion.”

 

  
Elrond’s expression broadened and he inclined his head, before his gaze lingeringly swept the room, as though memorising it.

 

  
“Rivendell likes to partner with other local businesses. Something else for us to discuss during your next visit.”

 

  
Bilbo could only bubble over with gratitude as Elrond left just as suddenly as he’d arrived. Rivendell, working with Violet Nights? That would mean promotion work for each other, advertising for Rivendell in the café and vice versa. And maybe something more, maybe providing a taster menu for each other's business, as a way of demonstrating their wares and getting their names out to a different kind of clientele. It was a huge step into something that Bilbo had never expected. It was amazing and overwhelming…and he had his mother to thank.

 

  
Oh God, she was never going to let him forget that. Bilbo groaned and stuck a hand in his pocket to retrieve the still-buzzing phone. It was Thorin, asking for more details, and listing his own opinions of Rivendell – the courses were too minimal and there was never a decent beer on tap. Bilbo grinned, a Durin dinner at Rivendell sounded like a comedy sketch, or like the sort of disaster that included smashed crockery and police involvement.

 

  
He tapped out a reply to Thorin – _everything's fine, weird, but fine. I'll tell you over supper. Also my mother is getting worse._

 

  
He definitely wasn't going to call her for a few days. She deserved to suffer, a lot, and realising that she was one of the last to hear such juicy gossip about her own son would kill her. Bilbo smirked, just a little; sometimes, he was very much his mother’s son.


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

Bilbo was icing coffee cupcakes when the café door slammed open. Whipped cream frosting spilled across the countertop as Oin and Gloin half-stumbled, half-marched in. Any complaints Bilbo was about to launch into died on his lips once he got a proper look at his visitors. A couple of Oin's looped beard braids were soaked with blood and there were deep scratches across his cheek, whilst Gloin was limping and had to be helped in by his brother. Bilbo dropped his icing bag and rushed around the counter, heart beating fast and eyes wide and worried. He carefully took hold of Gloin's free arm.

 

  
“What...?”

 

  
“Who'd you think, lad?” Oin sounded more irritable than usual, his voice as loud as ever, a side-effect of his often-faulty hearing-aid.

 

  
“A couple of his men took the opportunity and they're not far behind,” Gloin filled in, his breathing alarmingly wheezy.

 

  
And they’d decided to bring all of that to Violet Nights. Bilbo took a deep calming breath. Of course they had. Who would look for them in this cosy little nook? Well, if Smaug's men had good information...

 

  
Squashing his fear, Bilbo gestured to a door. “The back yard.”

 

  
He unlocked the door with shaking fingers and helped them outside – the yard was mostly paved with heavy stones, there were a few sparse trees and Bilbo wished that there were flower beds too but he liked it well enough, it was a cool calming place to take a break. Gloin grasped his shoulder, his eyes clear and focused.

 

  
“Don't do anything stupid.”

 

  
Bilbo laughed roughly, his mind spinning. “You first,” he replied pointedly and locked the door once he was inside again.

 

  
Okay. He braced himself against the countertop and took a deep breath, then another. There was a good chance that some of Smaug's men would be arriving soon to demand answers, possibly forcefully. He fumbled his phone out of his pocket and sent quick messages to both Bofur and Thorin, pleading with them not to come crashing into the café – that would definitely make things worse, wouldn't it? Thorin immediately called.

 

  
“Bilbo, are they...?”

 

  
“No one's here yet. Gloin's got a limp and Oin looks more dazed than usual, there's blood but nothing was gushing that I could see. They're out the back so you could take a route round there, instead of rushing in...”

 

  
Thorin called out something to Dwalin who swore but seemed to be agreeing. Everything sounded very frantic at their end. Bilbo used his free hand to clear away the spilled frosting. At least the cupcake wasn't ruined.

 

  
“I'm sending someone to watch the front. Bilbo, you should get out now. Come to Erebor.”

 

  
Bilbo shook his head, something erupting inside of him, even though his heartrate wasn't slowing down. “It sounded like whoever’s chasing is close behind. And if Smaug's as well-informed as you think, they'll just break in. Better that I'm here to try and prevent damage. I can’t _leave_ , Thorin.”

 

  
There wasn’t any other way to explain it and Thorin made a noise of frustration that said he understood but that he didn’t like it. Bilbo didn’t either but looking around his beloved café, a smile automatically taking over his face at the sight of everything and the memories that had been made there…he _hated_ the idea of someone tearing it apart, especially when he could have done something to stop that from happening. He had to try.

 

  
Thorin’s voice was low and dark. “If anyone hurts you…”

 

  
Bilbo's laugh was shaky but his words firm. “Then you have permission to do as much crashing as you like. I'll save you a cupcake.”

 

  
“Coffee and whipped cream?”

 

  
Thorin sounded almost eager and this time Bilbo's laugh was fond. He’d made sure to learn what each Durin’s favourite baked good was – it was useful for defusing a lot of arguments. He wished Thorin was there in person, for all his paranoia, Bilbo found his presence extremely reassuring and yes, his impressive arms and his even more impressive mouth helped too.

 

  
All thoughts and speech were brought to a screeching halt when the café door opened again. In walked two men, clad in expensive-looking suits. One wore burgundy and had wide green eyes, his blonde hair cut military-short, while his friend was dark-skinned and dark-haired, his single braid messy and one sleeve of his navy-blue suit badly torn. They were both built like rugby players and neither of them looked happy.

 

  
Bilbo swallowed but lifted his chin and held up a finger to signal that he'd be a moment as he spoke again. “Sorry, sir, where was I? We don't do deliveries but you can collect an order from us direct, would that work for you?”

 

  
Thorin cursed, his voice completely consumed by a growl this time. “They're there. We're on our way.”

 

  
“Yep, I'll be here for hours yet, the clubs haven't even opened.” Bilbo managed a chuckle, as though reacting to something Thorin had said. “Absolutely, don't worry about it. See you later.”

 

  
He hung up, as Thorin yelled for his nephews. Shoving his phone into a pocket, Bilbo raised his gaze to the two men, who were stood very still, their intent gazes trained on him. He felt like something pinned under a microscope. Very deliberately, he took a deep breath and pushed down all the worry that he could feel bubbling up inside of him – that wasn’t going to help right now – and forced himself to smile. He’d dealt with a lot of problem customers, he could do this, he really didn’t have any choice.

 

  
“Sorry about that. What can I get you?”

 

  
The blonde one smiled, it looked particularly reptilian. “Mr Baggins.”

 

  
He said Bilbo’s name as though it was a meal he was looking forward to. Bilbo resisted the urge to pitch a full teapot into the man’s face; instead his expression became good-natured and quizzical. It was one he’d seen his father use more than once when dealing with one of his mother’s particularly intense moods.

 

  
“Yes? Sorry, have we met before?”

 

  
“…No, but we have friends in common. The Durins.”

 

  
Bilbo’s smile widened – because the man's words were clearly a lie but a clever one and if Oin and Gloin hadn’t staggered in first, would he have realised that? He liked to think so. There was something extremely cold-blooded about the men currently stood in his café, as though they were permanently coiled to spring at any moment. God, if this was what his men were like, then Smaug was likely to be…

 

  
“Oh, yes. Of course, you know them from the club?”

 

  
Bilbo could play this game too and made sure to look interested and fond while keeping his hands busy with the frosting bag. He needed to finish preparing the cupcakes, one way or another.

 

  
The brunette spoke this time, his gaze sweeping the room assessingly. “We’ve been to Erebor, but we haven’t seen you there.”

 

  
A fishing expedition? Bilbo laughed a little, frosting a cupcake with a flourish. “No, I’ve only been once, my friends love it. It’s never really been my scene.”

 

  
“And this doesn’t seem like the Durins’ natural habitat,” the blonde replied leadingly.

 

  
Bilbo shrugged and gestured to the cakes with the tip of his frosting bag. “It probably isn’t, but this definitely is.”

 

  
The blonde cocked his head, watching far too closely as Bilbo finished his frosting and filled a cardboard box with the finished cupcakes before popping it all into the fridge for safe-keeping. When he turned around, the brunette was on the other side of the room, peering up the staircase.

 

  
“Right, can I get you anything? There’s some lemon-tea cupcakes that I can recommend with a honey glaze and scoop of buttercream or a cherry tart with homemade…”

 

  
“They haven’t been in today? The Durins?” the blonde cuttingly interrupted.

 

  
Bilbo’s hand, hovering over a pile of lemon-tea cupcakes, stilled and then slowly dropped. Inside of him, something trembled. But he could do this, he _was_ doing this. What would Belladonna do? His back straightened.

 

  
“They’re often in and out. Dori or Nori came in I think, maybe both, for a morning snack. Dwalin grabbed a breakfast muffin on his way past.”

 

  
“Nobody was in more recently?” the blonde pressed, as he approached the counter with the same sort of predatory gait as a big cat in a nature documentary.

 

  
Bilbo shook his head, praying that his mediocre stalling was helping Oin and Gloin silently make their way out of his back yard via the fence – the gate needed to be opened with a key. Had Thorin arrived yet? Was he already there in the dark, just waiting for a chance to pounce? He was another big cat. Bilbo liked that about him.

 

  
There was a smear of colour on the street outside. Bilbo glanced through the glass front and spied Ori, sitting on the bonnet of a parked car, a familiar sketchbook in his hand. He wasn't even looking at Violet Nights, but Bilbo felt immediately reassured – the Durins were here.

 

  
His brunette visitor was halfway up the staircase. Bilbo arched an eyebrow at him.

 

  
“Go ahead, this place used to be a hairdressers – they dumped a lot of old equipment up there. Help yourself.”

 

  
Bilbo forced himself not to watch as the brunette walked up the stairs and opened the door. Instead Bilbo noticed, with no small degree of alarm, there was blood on the café floor. Smaug's men must have come off worse in the tussle than it appeared. As the blonde was still hovering nearby, Bilbo offered a handful of paper napkins and reached for the small first aid kit that he kept beside the till for children with skinned knees or worse.

 

  
“God, you're bleeding. Here...”

 

  
He flipped open the kit's clasps and searched out some plasters – not the kid-friendly box with the superheroes on each bandage. Now that he had a good non-suspicious reason to look at the blonde, he could see that there was blood trickling sluggishly down one arm and was he holding himself awkwardly? The man took the napkins without comment and languidly rolled up a sleeve to mop at a nasty-looking cut without any change of expression. Bilbo left the first-aid box open on the counter like an offering.

 

  
The brunette returned back down the stairs, shaking his head. Bilbo’s stomach lurched, of course now they’d want to check out the back, logically, and he couldn’t exactly refuse. He hoped that Ori’s silent appearance at the front – and likely Dwalin was there too because he wouldn’t let Ori wander alone into probable violence – meant good news.

 

  
As expected, the blonde lifted his chin towards the back door. “Outside perhaps?”

 

  
Bilbo shrugged and tried not to stall as he led them outside. He leant against the doorway as they prowled around the back yard, checking stones for minute marks and peering out of the gate once Bilbo unlocked it. He was sure that they could hear how hard his heart was beating. He couldn’t see any sign of Oin and Gloin’s presence, but then he knew from some of the stories he’d been told that every Durin had encountered a situation like this at least once before and that they’d all managed to slither safely away, more or less.

 

  
Please let this one be more, not less.

 

  
Finally, the blonde man gestured for Bilbo to go back into the café and Bilbo offered tea or coffee, which both men refused. The brunette looked incredibly irritated and the blonde gazed at Bilbo with that microscope look again. Ori was still outside but seemed to be talking on his phone now, half-turned away from the café. With the hood of his duffle coat up and the many layers he was wearing, he could have been almost anyone.

 

  
“You should be careful, Mr Baggins, the company you keep here, anything could happen."

 

  
The blonde’s words could have been from any number of the cheesy bargain-bin straight-to-DVD films that Millie loved, but they still sent a chill down Bilbo’s spine. He managed a brightish smile, hoping that his teeth didn’t look too clenched.

 

  
“Sometimes, that might be the point,” he replied, sounding a lot like his mother, before adding as though it was an afterthought. “Thank you, for the advice.”

 

  
“Thank _you_ , for the cooperation.” The blonde’s smile was almost amused but it wasn’t warm at all. “And when you next see any Durins…”

 

  
A message really didn’t need to be left, so Bilbo nodded and the blonde plucked a lemon-tea cupcake from the counter. They didn’t knock over so much as a book as they left, silent and ominous. Ori had disappeared too, clearly making sure that he wasn’t spotted.

 

  
Bilbo let out a single shaky breath, all the worry and concern that he'd managed to box up and press down neatly now making a sudden overwhelming reappearance. He poured himself a large cup of tea before retreating to the kitchen to grab a cold beer from the fridge. He needed both after that. Hell.

 

  
Ori hurried in, worry and triumph both bright in his eyes. “Mr Baggins, are you all right?”

 

  
“I’m sure I will be, once I finish this.” Bilbo gestured to the tea cup that he was adding milk to, his insides jumping about like popping corn as he tried to hold himself together. “That, that was not fun, at all.”

 

  
Ori shook his head, tapping something into his phone. “Oin and Gloin got away fine. Thorin and Dwalin are making sure they get back to their flats safe before they double-back.”

 

  
Bilbo stayed silent after that and drank down his tea. Ori insisted that he didn’t want anything and settled down on one of the sofas to knit, his needles click-clacking reassuringly in the late afternoon light. He didn’t try to start any conversations, he just hummed a bit under his breath now and then. Bilbo served the customers who came in with a careful smile.

 

  
Eventually, once the last family had trickled out, Thorin and Dwalin marched in. Dwalin, of course, made a beeline for Ori and Thorin walked quickly to Bilbo’s side, searching him with somewhat-wild eyes before wrapping arms around him that said more than any words could. For once, Bilbo was glad that Thorin was keeping his thoughts to himself. He sagged a bit; the enormity of everything hitting him again and he looked up at Thorin with disbelieving eyes.

 

  
“You’ve been dealing with this for how long? And did that really happen? I mean, really? It was like something off the telly and I’m not sure if I mean Millie’s idea of a fun film or _The Sopranos_.”

 

  
Dwalin laughed grimly from where his meaty arm was slung happily around Ori. “Smaug likes all that dramatic shite. He likes to ‘make a point.’”

 

  
Bilbo shook his head. “No, I mean…it wasn’t…They didn’t touch anything, they didn’t smash glasses or throw any books about. They just talked and poked about.”

 

  
“They threatened you?” Thorin spoke at last, his tone like cracked china.

 

  
“No. I mean, they wanted you to know that they’d visited and they were clearly hoping to find Oin and Gloin, but that was it.”

 

  
Bilbo’s expression twisted as he scrambled to explain why no violence or threats sat so badly with him. Smaug clearly knew who he was and that he was close to the Durins, but Smaug hadn’t struck, hadn’t made an example of him or worse. In a flash, Bilbo remembered Dis’s talk of letters and Smaug’s knowledge and…of course, it was the fact that Smaug _hadn’t_ done anything that was the kicker.

 

  
“That was it…” Bilbo echoed quietly, before continuing a little louder. “That was the point. He could have done something, but he didn’t. Now you know that he knows about me and Violet Nights.”

 

  
Thorin muttered something under his breath and Ori’s grin was suddenly very sharp. It wasn’t an expression that Bilbo had ever seen before on the younger man’s face.

 

  
“Well, he won’t be getting their report in person for a while. Their tyres got slashed.”

 

  
Bilbo’s eyebrows shot up – he wouldn’t have been surprised to hear that from Fili and Kili, but Ori?! Dwalin laughed and grabbed Ori’s chin to draw him in for a hard gleeful kiss before asking “Make? Model?”

 

  
Ori dropped his sketchbook into Dwalin’s lap. “Two-wheels this time. Ducatis, gunmetal, one a couple of shades darker than the other, some modifications. I got as much down as I could.”

 

  
Dwalin went in for another hungry kiss and Bilbo didn’t clear his throat or remind them about the café rules. Ori deserved a hefty reward for his quick thinking - Bilbo would be making Ori's favourite gingerbread before the night was through.

 

  
Seemingly satisfied for the moment, Dwalin peeled himself an inch or two away from Ori’s flushed pleased face and retrieved a mobile phone from one of his battered jacket’s pockets. “I’ll get Fili and Kili on the vehicle details and Bifur can come here to check that no surprises have been left behind.”

 

  
Another lovely thought. Bilbo blindly reached for his beer bottle and drank gratefully. Thorin’s grip on him tightened – he hadn’t let go since his arrival - and Bilbo offered the bottle silently. Later, they'd share a box of coffee cupcakes with whipped cream frosting and yes, there would be actual talking and a lot more drinking, but for now, Bilbo was okay with silence.

 

  
_-the end_


End file.
